


The Florist and The Baker

by t0talcha0s



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dirk sells flowers, F/M, I was in the mood for Dirk and Jane friendships, Jane runs a bakery, Okay so technically he's a flower vendor not a florist but fight me, a little too much dialogue, blood and violence mentioned but fleetingly, they're friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's been selling his flowers there for a long time, and you've taken a shine to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Florist and The Baker

There's a boy across the street you've always been keen to. He's got a shock of orange hair and a basket full of flowers. Some days it's lilies, some days it's roses, or carnations, or tulips, or your personal favorites, when the time came around, branches decked in lilacs. Each day he stops in for a muffin, trading you a small amount of money, usually in coins, for your famous peach muffins. You're always tempted to give him an extra, as he's extremely thin, but he never accepts, won't take what he doesn't pay for. Nestled among his basket of vibrant flowers is each day, a book. Titles and conditions vary and are never the same. When you hand him his muffin he always nods and gives you a,

"Thanks, Crocker." And his voice is deep, and bright, and comforting, and enjoyable. You would love to listen to him talk, but he always takes his muffin, walks to his roadside, flips open his book, and sells out of his flowers quickly on a good day, and not at all on the bad. On bad days he'll knock softly on your closed bakery door, and hand you the fresh leftover flowers without letting you send him home with food. You ask him his name one day, and he flashes you a gentle smile and a,

"Dirk Strider." It sounds pleasant, and thrumming with some underlying quality you can't name. 

"It's a pleasure to, formally, meet you Dirk. I'm Jane." 

"Well thank you for the muffin, Jane." 

"You did pay, I can't deny you it then." He gives a chuckle, and it makes you smile. 

"That is a fair point." He says, giving a small wave before he heads to his corner with a nod. You watch him as he interacts with people, and you find your curiosity of him growing. During your shift you watch as he sells out of his flowers, resilient and beauty, both he and the flowers. 

A small girl ohs and ahs at some dahlias and as you ring up a piece of cheesecake, you watch as her father shakes his head and beckons her to keep walking. Before she can get too far, Dirk taps her shoulder, flashes her a smile and hands her a vibrant dahlia. He says something you can't hear and you smile widely at the scene, when the woman you're serving rudely clears her throat. 

"Oh yes of course, sorry miss. Here's your change, enjoy your cheesecake." You say politely and she walks off in a huff. You stick your tongue out at her once she leaves. 

Sometimes, when a funeral procession passes he'll hand a member of it a vibrant cheerful flower, and speak his condolences. He's been hugged more then once, and he always looks too funny and stiff when he is. 

Another day Dirk stands reading his book when a small boy tugs on the bottom his shirt, and Dirk looks down to see tears and snot running down the boy's face. He closes his book and concern covers his face. Dirk leads the boy to sit in the grass with him, smiling and telling him jokes to cheer him up, and when the boy is barely sniffling back tears Dirk teaches him to weave flowers together. You go out during lunchtime with a sandwich for the boy, knowing Dirk won't accept. Just as the boy puts a halo of lilies and bleeding hearts atop Dirk's spiked vibrant orange hair you speak. 

"Who's your friend Dirk?" He turns to face you and the ring of flowers is messy, and endearing, and it suits him perfectly. 

"His name's Avery and he can't find his mother." Avery gives a gentle sniff. "Hey Ave, this is Jane, she's a sweetheart, she can be trusted." You give Avery the sandwich and spend a little time with the two of them. Dirk's excellent at keeping other's happy, and when Avery's mother finally arrived scooping him up and thanking Dirk endlessly he just waved it off and didn't remove his flower halo even after they left.

A rather old woman who bought flowers blank faced, but as Dirk handed her her flowers her face burst into a smile and she looked like she was about to cry. When she walked into your bakery to pick up her cake order, you asked what he said. 

"He told me I was beautiful." That blinding smile only old, wise women have. "I haven't been told that in years. What a sweet boy." 

Today it's raining, and Dirk sits, lightly wet, crosslegged on the counter. You've tried to shove food down his throat several times but he's denied all you've offered. 

"You're insufferable Mr. Strider." You grumble with a significant lack of malice.

"I've been told so before." You smile and there's a pause as he picks up one of the flowers in his basket, wet and drooping a little. 

"How old are you Dirk?" 

"Twenty-three." He is, as you suspected, younger then you. 

"Shouldn't a smart man like you be in college."

"I was in college, I graduated college." You arch an eyebrow.

"Really now?" 

"Mhm. I graduated high school at sixteen, and did my five years and got a degree." 

"What in?"

"Biomedical engineering." You almost laugh.

"And what's an engineer doing selling flowers?"

"Crazy yeah?" He flashes you a smile and it's sad, and beautiful, and puts suns to shame. "I met a girl."

"Lover-boy hm?" You waggle your eyebrows at him and he laughs. 

"No, no. More like a sister. She was fabulous, she was everything to me." There's a hint of a sad smile, and a tone of melancholy in his voice. "But the two of us-" he stops, thinks for a minute. "We made some extremely bad decisions. Ones that landed us both in less then favorable situations."

"Selling flowers?" 

"Dead and in the ICU respectively." 

"If you don't mind my prying, may I ask what happened?" 

"You're not getting the full story, but basically we got wrapped up in some shit we never should have been in. Roxy, that was her name, Roxy ended up a mangled body with two shots through the skull and leg. I, well I just got off with a concussion, a snapped bone or two, and this baby." He tilts his chin up and back, and with the right lighting you can make out a pale crosshatched scar around his upper neck and chin. You gape at it for a moment. "Roxy, what was left of her, got buried in the funeral I know she'd have wanted. She had a thing for funerals. While I recovered, made a few more terrible decisions, and when I ended up shattered and alone in the apartment that seemed like I hadn't lived there my whole life, I realized I maybe needed a change in my life." 

"Well when you phrase it like that." You joke, attempting to wipe that somber look off his face. He chuckles. 

"Right? So some crazy shit I can hardly recall and here I am, a roadside flower vendor."

"Yet one who's made a lot of people happy." 

"That's kind of you to say. But what's a dancer doing in a bakery?"

"What makes you think I'm a dancer?" You raise an eyebrow at him. 

"You move like one." You laugh, and nod. 

"I'll admit I dabbled, but I inherited the bakery from my grandmother, and the Crocker's legacy must continue."

"That's pretty selfless." 

"That's funny coming from you." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a good man, Dirk." He examines a flower, a sunflower today, twirling it gently and plucks off an unruly, dying petal. 

"You're too quick to judge someone, Jane." There's a pregnant pause and you're unable to articulate the questions wedged in your throat. "But the sentiment is appreciated, so thank you." 

"Of course." The two of you sit in companionable silence, examining the rain outside, soft and gentle, misty rain. You turn to look at him as he watches it fall. He's rather pale, too thin, sharp bone structure, regal. Bright sunflowers in contrast to the wet dark of his clothing. "Sunflowers are my favorites." He looks at you, handing you one. 

"Yeah? What about them do you like?"

"They're just so bright, and resilient, beautiful and strong. What's not to admire."

"They're alright, a bit big for their britches." You chuckle. 

"Oh yeah mister flower-vendor, what's your favorite then?" 

"Dandelions, they're tiny insignificant weeds, but they're "wishes" and beautiful and bright, and they're the small things that can make a day better. They're infinite potential." 

"Pretentious douche." You fake cough at him and he laughs. Oh what a laugh he has, tinkling, and rusty, and joyous. Stars ought be jealous of its beauty. 

"It's a claim I can't deny." 

"It suits you." 

"Rude as fuck Crocker." He faux punches you and you laugh and stick your tongue out at him. He just sticks his out right back and he look so inexplicably happy. Yes, there's a boy sitting on your counter that you're quite fond of. He's got secrets to rival the moon, and is beautiful enough to put the flowers he sells to shame. And when he's happy his smile contains the universe and reflects back to you all that is beautiful and good. You shall always strive for his happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I'm about to drop some hella fucked up bloody Dirkhal so I wanted to post something happy  
> Plus I love Dirkjane  
> A'ight i'm on tumblr at Barefootcosplayer hit me up.


End file.
